


The Future Is Only So Near

by slightlyjillian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Academy Era, Friendship, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-04
Updated: 2011-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>pre-series. Political tension between the colonies and the Alliance had thickened since our first year. On bleak days, we speculated if we would be the class to graduate into an actual war</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Future Is Only So Near

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Experimental](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Experimental/gifts).



> I checked some facts and then totally made up others which might be contradictory… but the point came when the story just wanted what it wanted.

Two weeks into my studies at the Academy and I was already being given a run for my money. First scores had been posted and I stared at my name. Up at my name. It was a long list. The military paid for supplemental education so quite a few of my classmates were interested in becoming doctors or accountants once they got their time in with the Alliance. Doctors and accountants didn’t always make the best pilots.

So for the first time in my life, I had a target on my back.

“Seventh? Walker, my bunkmate… my friend!” Nichol’s heavy arm dropped along my shoulders and his opposite hand blinded me as his fingers messed up my hair. “I feel practically famous _even knowing you._ ”

He was lying. Even if I hadn’t already caught on to his strange way of manipulating the truth, I had already seen his name. “You’re number four,” I said simply, pointing.

“What?” he turned to look. A few other cadets had pushed between us and the posting, but none so tall as to block the sight.

“Number four,” I repeated.

“Oh, I guess I did make the list,” he grinned.

“Let another man praise thee and not thy own mouth,” I quoted. The phrase took me back to the wheat fields and heat and the taste of lemonade. Enlisting into the military had taken me farther from home than any other Walker for generations.

“Eh, what’s that? Another proverb?” Nichol stepped back and folded his arms across his uniform. Somehow the other man found time to polish his buttons, not that I’d ever caught him in the act. He continued, “I suppose it’s best we don’t start out right at the top. Gives us a chance to get marks for _shows improvement_.”

“Who is Cadet Clark?” I asked, unable to put a face to that name. Sure, the incoming class was huge, between the various bases we had at least a thousand new bloods specializing in the mobile suits force. But the top pilots had recognized each other right away. Bill Cheever III and Ralph Fuller were both sons of military families. Margaret Bass had been a pleasant surprise. Unlike most female pilots she looked like a ballet dancer. And, of course… my roommate. His story was piecemeal and only came up tangentially. One minute he was a legitimate son of some property holder, but the next he referred to himself as the bastard sent in place of his lord’s heir.

“Who _is_ Cadet Clark?” Nichol repeated with reversed emphasis. “I heard he’s colony spawn. But I suppose even the military has to make the quota.”

“Don’t say that,” I retorted.

“Not polite?” Nichol’s grin went sideways into one cheek. “C’mon, follow me. I’ve something I wanted to tell you. I hadn’t decided what to do with the information yet, but I have a feeling you’ll have some idea what.”

When I turned, Nichol had managed to side step the tall person who had silently appeared behind us. I, however, walked fully into him.

“Sorry,” I muttered, cutting off whatever I might have said next. This person not only had several inches on me, but he was twice as broad. His eyes barely gave me a second look before he searched for his name on the rankings.

I might have said more of an apology except for two things. The guy was sunburnt and badly. Only his cheeks had peeled but his uniform was covered in flakes. At the same moment, I read the name stitched across his chest. I hurried to catch my bunkmate.

“Who was that guy?” Nichol asked, glancing back only once before pushing through the door and into the daylight.

“That,” I said lightly. “…was Trant Clark.”

***

Lake Victoria Academy had a secret society, and Nichol had infiltrated it within a fortnight. He’d explained it to me first, something to do with a way they wore their uniforms—a detail no one would have noticed if they weren’t as meticulous about their clothing as Nichol. Then he’d observed that these particular students walked in pairs between the fourth and fifth training hours. Only none of them actually attended an Academy class in that time frame.

“So where do they go? That’s what I asked myself next.” Nichol lay on his bunk balancing a plate of grapes on his chest and plopping one between his lips before he had finished with the last. I sat at my desk. My laptop alone illuminated the room making his smug grin appear even more sinister in the shadows.

The grapes were mine. He had already eaten the sugar cookies my sister had made. I grabbed the only orange anticipating Nichol would devoured everything in his sight.

“And?” I prompted, belatedly recognizing my cue when he had with great exaggeration aimed to pitch a grape at me.

“The old Leo hanger,” he grinned, chewing the same piece of fruit with which he’d recently threatened me. “They have some sort of meeting complete with ritualistic burning of the hard copies and it’s led by that hot chick.”

I waited knowing that she could have been just about any one of the female pilots. Nichol seemed to equally admire them all… well, their appearance anyway.

“Lucy Noin,” Nichol grumbled at my lack of reaction. He added for good measure, “Lucrezia.”

“She’s graduating isn’t she?” I knew her name. She and Zechs Marquis were one and two of the junior class—but they were already applying for early certification. I had read their names from the list after hearing the crowd around me mentioning them so often like celebrities.

“I met her just before finding you at the lists,” Nichol went on. “Did you know that she’s being offered a teaching position? Here? And she doesn’t have her full stripes yet, but she’s that good. I think I’d like to teach…”

I laughed at his leap in logic. “Watch it, Nichol! You’ll get stuck with her as an instructor next semester. Inappropriate relationship.”

“Hmm,” he rumbled somewhat undecided. “I saw you talking to Marge. Is she your sort?”

My laughter diminished into a rather unmanly squawk when I did get nailed with one of my own grapes. Suddenly, the loss of Ellie Walker’s cookies was an unforgivable crime.

“Damn,” Nichol cried out. “Uncle, for the love of… Walker, I said _’uncle’_ …”

***

Running every morning, rain or shine, became a pleasant routine. Where Nichol reveled in conspiracies and secrets, I enjoyed the leisure of discipline. My muscled burned until I felt like I could run forever. I would race right into the future and no one could catch me--except I was eight rows back and had to keep formation.

“You’ve got a pretty singing voice, Walker.”

I swallowed hard, eyes sliding sideways to recognize Zechs Marquis. He kept pace to my right where I held the end of the line. Something came out of my throat, an unintelligible response quite unlike whatever I had been contributing to the chorus previously.

His lips, the only indication of his moods under his Academy approved helmet, quirked into a smile. “Carry on, soldier.” Then he slowed to bully forward the disenchanted cadets at the rear.

“Looks like you’ve got the Lightning Count’s blessing.”

It took me a moment to realize the comment was directed at me. From the person to my left. And that by ‘Lightning Count’ he meant Zechs.

“Ah, I wouldn’t say that,” I answered modestly. It didn’t mean anything. He knew my name, sure that was something, but maybe he was the kind of person who knew everyone’s name. I had heard Treize Kushrenada had been notorious for never forgetting a face. Maybe Zechs was like that too. Maybe all great men were…

The other cadet chuckled, “You should take a compliment. I think you actually deserve it.”

“What?” I looked over. In that same moment, the sun chose to burn through the clouds and I squinted at the face of Trant Clark.

“I said you deserve it. I’ve seen your replay specs and even with the unrealistic limitations of the Academy sims your piloting response is quite good,” he said.

I knew the records were available for review, but I hadn’t heard of anyone scanning through anyone else’s flight stats. “Oh, okay,” I said, struggling for a reply. “Thanks.”

“You’re better than seventh,” he went on. “It’s the sims. I could teach you some tricks for the pit-only zero gravity tests. It’s nothing like piloting a real mobile suit in space, but I guess it’s sufficient.” He sounded insincere at the last.

We turned the final bend and clear of the forest, I could see the far west hanger and just beyond that the showers. I realized how much I needed a shower right then.

“Okay, sure, uh… Clark,” I said, amicably. I still wanted to know what had caught the attention of Zech Marquis that he would address me personally. But I couldn’t just go ask my senior.

“Trant is fine. We have Aries Basics together. After that?”

“Okay,” I nodded. Looking around I saw the long blond hair, but Zechs was preoccupied in a conversation with one of the instructors. My shoulders noticeably sunk and I paced myself to a slow jog as orders were called back dismissing us for showers and the mess hall.

“Are you eating with anyone?”

I had almost forgotten Trant was there.

***

“Thanks for saving me a seat,” Trant Clark said sitting opposite from me.

Nichol stopped mid-story to raise his eyebrows. “I don’t seem to remember… wait, did you invite him?” He leaned forward on his elbows and turned to stare at me directly.

“Clark had some tips on getting better scores in the sims,” I said, not remembering if I had or not.

“Trant,” he said, correcting me again. He reached over his tray to offer Nichol a handshake. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“I’m Walker’s bunkmate,” Nichol said, taking his fork instead of Trant’s hand. He stuffed an oversized bite into his mouth and raised an eyebrow at me. Nichol, for all his ability to sniff out secrets, was remarkable unsubtle.

“This is Nichol,” I answered for him, ignoring the mock-betrayal in his eyes. “He’s a bastard.”

Trant smiled, but not as completely as Nichol who burst into a full laugh. He threw his head back just before shoving into me with his shoulder.

“So what’s your story, _Trant_? You’re obviously colony born with that skin. You’re so white,” Nichol said. I knew it was his attempt at a truce, but Trant’s icy glares would just as soon blast Nichol into atoms. Nichol had noticed. “But your backbone can’t be as fragile to burns. Or was it a fluke your name ended up in the top spot?”

“It was no fluke. I know how to take a test,” Trant stabbed his fork into the eggs, but didn’t bring anything to his mouth. I had somewhat lost my appetite as well. I genuinely liked Nichol, but spent more time apologizing for him.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see who ends up on top when it’s actual Aries we’re flying.” Nichol bit into his biscuit still managing to keep a challenging grin spread across his features.

“I will,” Trant answered coolly. “You have the basics, I’ll admit. And you know your machines very well, but you don’t have the mental capacity to be a long-term pilot.”

Nichol swallowed, his Adam’s apple furiously bobbing. I meant to jump between them, but Nichol settled back and dropped a low whistle. Trant began eating.

“I think he just called me a moron,” Nichol whispered to me. He had a surprising way of appreciating a worthy insult. The key was getting him to agree with you.

“Yeah,” I glanced between them. “Well, you’ll have plenty of chances to prove him wrong. Officially.” I added the last with a sigh of relief.

***

Soon enough Nichol had his opportunity. And I learned that Trant hadn’t made a lot of friends in the few months we’d been at the Academy.

Our guest instructor, a man named Catalonia, met a select group of us in the middle of the plains in Africa. He dressed like he was on safari while we sweated in our uniforms. I tried to stay interested in his lengthy speech about historical battles fought on the ground where we stood, but even I had my limit as my tongue started to stick dry against the roof of my mouth.

“Sir, perhaps we could allow them a brief recess to unpack their gear?” Zechs said, politely.

Catalonia blinked a few times as if remembering where he was. Then he muttered, “Yes, of course.” And, surprisingly, flashed us all a paternal grin.

“That guy is…” Nichol started.

“Don’t say it,” I pleaded, grabbing his arm and hurrying him forward. I had seen the containers of rations taken into the main tent. I led him there.

“Unreal,” he finished anyway. But I doubted that was his original intent. “The man has a list of honors longer than my mother’s last name. Which is long. But he’s not what I imagined at all.”

“That’s why I’m here, Cadet.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Tingling with dread, I knew Zechs had overheard us. We hadn’t quite made it to the tent, but both Nichol and I instinctively went to attention.

Zechs hesitated briefly, as if somewhat surprised that we’d showed him the respect. I couldn’t even swallow my mouth was so dry. Perspiration trickled down my brow. The sun didn’t seem to stop, and we had only gone a few degrees closer to the equator.

“You can learn a lot from him, just…”

I realized Zechs was giving us _advice_.

“Endure with the tangent?” Nichol chuckled. “Yes, sir.”

“I pity whatever commanding officer ends up with your friend here,” Zechs said to me. I nodded quick and brief, tucking my chin toward my neck. “Well, I hope to see more of you, Walker. I was glad to see you qualified for the trip.”

“Me too, sir. I mean, yes.”

Nichol chewed his lips into his mouth. Later he said, “Me too sir. I mean… have I told you how much I’m in love with my reflection in your shiny helmet.”

Refreshed again, I scowled at him. “He’s right about you, you know.”

“A commanding officer would be _lucky_ to have a soldier like me,” Nichol grumbled, his good humor deflating.

Somewhat, but not enough, of me thought to apologize. But I doubt that would have made a difference. Just then, Zechs began reading out the teams for a mobile suit game schedule for our first night. Apparently, Catalonia didn’t treasure the military resources so much he wouldn’t let us play fight in them.

“Sounds like capture the flag to me,” Nichol said when the final directions were communicated to the group.

“Who cares?” I answered, with sudden elation. “It’s not a sim!”

We went our separate ways, Nichol being part of the opposite team. I saw Trant heading toward me and waved.

“Ready to put some holes in the ego of that friend of yours?” Trant said by means of greeting.

Just then Marge appeared at my side, “Hey, Walker.”

More than a little surprised, I nodded. She had never gone out of her way to talk to me before. Or even recognize me in public. I had stood behind her for twenty minutes in the Academy supply shop when the lines had gone long. Not once, and she had seen me, did she act as if she knew my name.

“What do you want?” Trant asked.

“We’re on the same team,” she replied, giving him only a cursory glance before turning her attention back to me. “So what’s the plan?”

“He’s the ideas guy.” I pointed at the colony born cadet. Trant practically glowed as if I’d given him the secret of the universe.

We hung on his every word. Actually, his plan seemed pretty fool proof and the others suddenly gained excitement at the prospect of showing Catalonia a few tricks along with the ultimate objective of victory.

Well, the rest of them were going to perform. I ultimately fell into the role of protecting the flag. It gently blew in the night breeze, which I couldn’t feel from inside the cockpit of course. My fingers began to sweat slightly with anticipation. Trant didn’t intend on letting anyone get close, but I wasn’t going to let them down either.

It gave me a lot of time to think. About Zechs and his ongoing, pointed interest in my career. Or Trant’s uncanny statistical strength. I knew that he liked reviewing my performance with me. I had learned a lot from his analysis. But tonight we all learned that he’d not only been studying my scores, but everyone’s. Within minutes he’d created not only a strategy to defend and seize the flags, but he paired each soldier to their ideal opponent. We were sure to win. I knew it.

“Hey, Walker.” My communications system, which had sat on and idle, burst into life and lit everything around me a brilliant, bright green. I reached for my goggles and pulled them down to cut some of the glare.

“Bass?” I replied. Why was Marge sending me a message?

“Nichol says that you’re rubbish at detecting an undercover agent. And to tell Trant he’s the moron.”

“What?” I turned my suit around, but not fast enough. She shot me with the beam weapon. Somehow she had circled back around without being suspected. And I was immediately glad that we weren’t using live ammunition. Nonetheless, the stun to my suit shot painful currents through my body.

***

“No rules,” Nichol protested, a finger pressed into Trant’s chest. “ _No rules_ except to capture the flag. You should have paid more attention to who your teammates actually _were_ instead of trying to impress Catalonia.”

We were gathered to debrief after the surprise ending to the not-so-friendly game of capture the flag in mobile suits. My left arm still trembled from Marge’s shot to my back. She’d apologized, twice, but couldn’t keep the grin from crossing her gorgeous face.

Most of the cadets had shared a shaky laugh. Zechs frowned, but stayed just behind Catalonia who burst into laughter every few minutes. We all waited to hear his final judgment, but it seemed he appreciated Nichol’s humor.

Trant, however, did not. “What you did was hardly honorable.”

“Come on,” Nichol shook his head. “In real war, espionage is a part of life. If you’re not going to expect that sort of tactic then you’re… naive.”

“He has a point,” Marge said, but not loudly enough to draw anyone’s attention but my own. “I couldn’t believe what an amazing idea it was when he suggested it, but… are you okay? I’m glad I didn’t get hit, because it sure doesn’t look like our blanks were painless.”

“I’m fine,” I said, not wanting to miss the argument. Trant seemed ready to launch himself at Nichol, who obviously hadn’t noticed their friend’s absolute fury.

“Alright, boys,” Catalonia lifted his arms. “The purpose of tonight was to practice moving the suits in atmosphere. We’ve recorded the data and will have individual evaluations to show room for improvement.”

“He didn’t win, they didn’t defeat me…” Trant beseeched, unwilling to surrender the situation to Catalonia’s easy-going humor.

“Give it a rest,” Nichol muttered. “I don’t know how they do things on colony, but here we call it recognizing the better man.”

***

I waited until the crowd had thinned. Nichol motioned for me to follow but I told him I’d catch up later. Trant hadn’t moved during Catalonia’s painfully long follow-up lecture about various atmosphere-flight craft through the centuries.

“It was my fault,” I said, keeping my tone light. “I let my attention wander and…”

“Which was why they rejected me,” he replied obviously mid-argument with himself. Then he focused on my face and said, “Oh, Walker.”

“Yeah, like I was saying…”

“I should have known there was no way Catalonia would punish Nichol in front of us. But you know that. Earth pseudo-royalty always sticks together. I don’t know why I thought the military would be any different.”

“Ah, I don’t know what you mean,” I shrugged. “I simply wanted to…”

“Nichol’s parents,” Trant explained. He turned to look where my bunkmate, my best friend, had left in a crowd of admirers. “He’s a distant relative to Catalonia. Catalonia has connections to the Noventas. It’s all… so very inbred.”

“That’s news to me.” I had meant to console Trant, but found myself defending Nichol. Once again. “He’s never mentioned it. Or used it to his advantage. I’ll admit, what happened tonight was…”

“But, you see,” Trant’s tone turned passionate and he gripped my shoulders. “He doesn’t have to ask for it. That’s not how prejudice works.”

I pushed his arms away from me. “It’s not like that. He isn’t like that. I’m from the backwaters, as low-born as they get, and Nichol’s never…”

“Yes, well _you_ ,’ Trant dismissed me with a wave of his hand. Then he put the same hand to his chin, calculating.

“Yes me… what?” I grumbled.

“No one’s going to target Zechs' favorite.”

***

“Sore loser,” Nichol crowed, already drunk off his head. I wasn’t certain where they got the alcohol--unless Marge was a better smuggler than even Nichol had anticipated. It had taken some doing convincing her to leave. Like everyone else, she seemed just as enamored with Nichol due to his momentary success, but she finally submitted when she realized who I was.

“Right, Walker, yeah sorry. Sorry about your arm,” she had said patting me on the cheek.

“Why did she do that?” I asked.

“She likes you,” Nichol had chuckled, hugging me if a half-nelson qualified as a friendly embrace.

“No,” I tugged free. “She likes _you_.”

“Today she does.” Nichol tilted his head to one side. “Maybe it’s because of Zechs.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I complained, Trant’s words still fresh on my mind. I certainly didn’t feel like I received any additional attention from the Academy due to Zechs Marquis.

“Geez, Walker.” Nichol flopped back on his cot. “How do you think we got this private tent while everyone else is over there? Together.”

“I don’t know,” I replied.

Nichol’s grin grew wider as he smiled toward the ceiling. “And that’s why no one hates you. Not even Trant, and he hates everybody.”

“You cheated. He has good reason to…” I paced the tent. Becoming aware of the night sounds and silence outside, I dropped my voice to a whisper.

“I didn’t cheat,” Nichol whispered back, matching my own volume. “I won.”

“Because you knew Catalonia would think it was funny?” I had to know and the words of Trant’s accusations tumbled from me.

“What? Hardly,” Nichol scoffed. “The old man thinks of war like stories stuck only in history...”

“What about honor?”

“What?” Nichol sat upright, suddenly very sober. “I still have my honor. What you say, Walker, is _well done_ or _way to out smart us_.” He leaned forward to rest his arms over his knees. “I didn’t expect criticism from you.”

“Well,” I hesitated. The game had no rules. He had bested us. And good.

“If you want to start questioning honor,” Nichol continued as if intending to strike a blow back at me. “Maybe you should start looking a little closer at Zechs Marquis. Now he’s a man with a few skeletons in his very dark closet.”

It felt like a slap in the face, but I was tired. Tired of Trant blaming everyone but himself and of Nichol being a jerk.

When I was young, the soldiers had inspired me to be a better person. To want to protect and defend my home. But the reality of it was that in the end, we were all-too-human little boys.

***

The ruckus surrounding Nichol’s upset victory lasted only a few days after our return to the Academy. Then it was back to classes and sims. Winter graduation ceremonies came. Typically they were quiet affairs, but even Nichol couldn’t resist attending.

“Stop checking the mirror,” he accused, pressing an obnoxious sloppy kiss against my just shaved cheek. “Your boyfriend is going to think you’re gorgeous.”

“He’s not…” I started, but gave up. Nichol enjoyed his jokes, no matter how old and wearisome. He also was excessively protective in the most unnecessary situations.

“Well, just be careful,” Nichol said opening the door to our bunks. “I don’t want him breaking your heart and all that.”

“Good grief,” I sighed, walking through to the hallway. A slow, steady stream of our peers meandered toward the front lawn that had already been set up by the time we’d had breakfast. Other cadets had been assigned duties, but we were at leisure that weekend.

“Too bad he didn’t live up to all the hype,” Nichol continued talking to himself as we looked for a place to sit.

“What do you mean?” I asked. The military band played some piece that made my heart beat faster as if I should be running instead of sitting still. To one side, the press had made an appearance. They were held back by decorative ropes which wouldn’t keep back much except someone periodically patrolled the barriers motioning to the over zealous to get back.

“Hey, there’s Treize.” Nichol’s elbow moved so fast I expected to find bruises. Wincing, I looked where he nodded, but through the growing crowd I couldn’t get a good look. Then someone began a live camera feed to the large screens over the stage.

I found it somewhat difficult to focus on and recognize anyone. Of course, Zechs was easy to find. Then next to him was a woman I belatedly recognized as Noin.

“Lucy cut her hair,” Nichol moaned at the same instant. “But she still looks sharp for placing number one.”

“What?” I grinned. “She kept it?”

“Yeah,” Nichol looked at me. “Why wouldn’t have she?”

“She let him have it.” Trant sat in the seat at my other side. Then without waiting for acknowledgment he continued. “I’ve kept a close record of their scores and on the last exam she had ten seconds on his speed until the last corner. Then she let him win.”

“How can you say that?” Nichol seemed unable to look away from the stage, but sat on the edge of his seat as if he might jump up.

“She under accelerated, which isn’t like her at all.” Trant leaned back, looking smug. “Just like a woman in love. She let him win.”

“She didn’t. She doesn’t,” Nichol insisted. “You’re lying.”

“Why would you lie?” I asked, also unconvinced. “Zechs and Noin aren’t like that.”

“No?” Trant chuckled. “Lose the rose-colored goggles, ladies, and see the real world. I’m living in it.”

***

Two years later, I had come back from a short-term training mission to find my side of the bunkroom as tidy as I had left it. Nichol, however, seemed to have created a furious natural disaster of his belongings. I lifted a torn piece of paper and knew enough that it was Marge’s handwriting.

“I know you’re under there somewhere.” I poked the bulge, which rewarded me with the brief appearance of Nichol’s short curls. “I take it that you’re not seeing Marge anymore?”

“Wasn’t seeing her in the first place.” His voice was low and muffled.

“Right, because you won’t sneak around with her,” I replied. We’d been over the argument before, but Nichol had a stubbornness that wouldn’t budge. I somewhat admired him for it, even if it made for some long weekend-pass nights at the bar.

“She should know better,” Nichol muttered. “Rules say…”

I chuckled, not really listening as he recited regulations and his reasons for not taking their relationship further.

“She’s impulsive,” I reminded him. “If it’s meant to be, she’ll learn to appreciate your… well, it’s not like you’d be unfaithful to a wife.”

“It’s worse,” Nichol sat up. “She’s with Trant.”

“What?” Obviously, I had missed a lot.

‘Today, this morning,” recounted Nichol. “All the clues are there except that no one else can see the signs. Is everyone here blind?”

“Not everyone sees what you do,” I allowed. “But are you sure? Or are you projecting?”

“I don’t project,” Nichol muttered. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I just need proof.”

“Let it rest,” I shook my head. “Marge is Marge. Do you want to do that to her? What if someone had ratted out Lucy?”

Nichol paused. “Do you think she could be happy with him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care, but if you do what you’re suggesting—you’re the bad guy.” I found what I was looking for in my luggage. I reached over to Nichol. “This is for you.”

“Fitting,” he sighed, but a small smile found his lips. “A whistle for the whistle blower.”

“193. Class with the lowest number of cheaters.” I spun the popular insult into a compliment.

“Well, I still haven’t nailed Trant,” Nichol said, more brightly. He settled the thin chain around his neck and let the small decoration fall against his chest. He’d never be able to hide it while in uniform, but I had only meant it to be a souvenir from Corsica.

“That’s because he doesn’t cheat,” came my traditional reply. “It’s looking more likely that I’ll be stationed at Corsica. Zechs says that they’ve got me on the short list for the Specials.”

“Very nice,” Nichol said, diplomatically. He watched for my reaction to gauge his own. The Specials were an elite force, but not everyone wanted to be aligned with Treize Kushrenada. Political tension between the colonies and the Alliance had thickened since our first year. On bleak days, we speculated if we would be the class to graduate into an actual war. Nichol had applied for space duty, which was almost guaranteed service.

Either way, Corsica hardly seemed a target.

***

“Remember when we obsessed over the lists?” I asked cheerfully. Two days until graduation, but the younger cadets had completed their most recent tests and almost all of them crowded around the posted results.

“At least they know their ranking,” Nichol grumbled. His uniform had more decorations, each meticulously polished, but I had caught him shining them. He wasn’t sleeping well.

“Are you okay?” I asked. I had been the one to suggest that we observe the applicant trials. Lucy Noin had the job of testing the new kids. Typically seeing her put Nichol in good spirits.

He stopped walking and when I faced him the daylight betrayed the grey shadows under his eyes. “It’s weird, Walker. It’s a premonition. Some persistent thought in the back of my mind that won’t connect.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“I feel like I saw something or I know something…” he stopped. “Right. That sounded absolutely insane. Don’t tell anyone. What did you say? Good idea. Let’s have a laugh watching the new kids.”

“Maybe the nurse could dose you with something…”

“I’m fine,” Nichol rejected with a roll of his eyes to the cloudless sky.

***

Immediately before the final ceremonies, Nichol slugged my shoulder. He had trouble keeping his eyes in one place and seemed more nervous than I’d ever seen him during our years together. He said, “At least you don’t have to give the speech, right? Not that there is as much press as last time we went to one of these.”

“Maybe if you wore a mask,” I joked. He took a moment to recover from the brief shock of my humor.

“You just… well, let’s ring Milliardo and tell him he’s been caught,” Nichol chuckled.

“Who?” I squinted at the stage. Trant and Marge were already in the seats for one and three.

“Nevermind, I thought you…” Nichol shrugged. “Why spoil the surprise?”

“What surprise?”

“How did you let Trant beat you? It’s bad enough I slipped behind Marge. If she wasn’t a girl,” Nichol grumbled.

“If you didn’t still love her,” I whispered as we made our way up the stairs to our places on the small platform.

“I don’t,” he hissed back. A terrible liar--when Nichol felt something, he never quite was able to let it go. She had cut her hair, which caused it to flip out in the latest fashion. Nichol stared until he sat down then his efforts not to look were almost worse.

“Corsica, huh?” Trant said while I took my place between him and Marge.

“Yeah, it’s the lead position too,” I boasted somewhat, the news still being fresh.

“My calculations indicate that Corsica is going to be a vital linchpin for any significant struggle between space and Earth,’ Trant said somberly.

“I hardly think so,” I corrected. “Have you been there?”

“Do you know what Corsica has?” he volleyed back. I obviously didn’t know, and he let his sidelong gaze linger. Then he smiled, a very unexpected and uncomfortable expression. “I bet you’re going to like it.”

“Okay,” I tried not to look at the crowds and for a brief moment the whole of my time at the Academy seemed a precious memory slipping from my grip like water. My fingers clenched tighter, but I held nothing.

“I knew you were number two material,” Trant said, even though the ceremony had started. We stood for the flags. The band played a different song than what I remembered from Zechs and Noin’s graduation. This piece ached my muscles as if the day were overcast and full of gloom instead of the actual sunny skies.

“Thanks for believing in me,” I said politely.

“A little prep from me and…”

Suddenly the compliment seemed less sincere and I turned the other direction briefly, over Marge, and got a face full of Nichol’s shit-eating grin.

 _We did it,_ he mouthed. Or something like that.

“Our first applicant from the colonies, Trant Clark has proven himself to be a very gifted soldier,” the speaker said. “Proof yet again that the future of the colonists, our future, is connected to Earth. And the Alliance.”

***

“To the future,” I cheered. Not quite certain how I had gotten on the table, I slid off and landed mostly onto Nichol’s lap.

“Move over princess,” he laughed. “I’m saving that place for Marge.”

Peering into his eyes, I realized, “Oh I see how it is.”

“She waited for me.”

“No, no she didn’t.” I shook my head. The lights of the bar were dim, but everything seemed very bright. I found my goggles and pulled them down. “I see a different blonde in your future.”

“Is that true?” Nichol leaned in. “Tell me more.”

“That’s all I see,” I took another lengthy drink. “But you’ll have to wait a long time for her.”

“Not later. Now. Damn,” Nichol sat back. “Marge, where are you?”

“What about me?” Trant sat opposite us.

“You are way too sober.” Nichol pointed at the same drink Trant had been nursing all night. “And you’re damn lucky that we let you party with us.”

“One is the loneliest number,” I said. Then tilting my head I heard the same lyrics. “That’s an old version.” I sang along briefly until Nichol did push me from his lap.

“Where is Marge?” he asked.

“She’s hooked up with Ralph Fuller,” I said glibly. Then Nichol made a face, his brow furrowed and angry.

“ _That was it._ Somehow I knew she would. That she had,” he muttered. “All that time…” Then he cheered somewhat. “She was cheating on _you_ , Trant.”

“Women are your weak spot,” I nudged him with a finger. “Just wait. Don’t get messed up with brunettes.”

“What’s with you, Walker?” Nichol shook his head. Then he accepted when the waitress offered to bring our checks. “Graduation make you clairvoyant?”

“Possibly,” I pushed my goggles up again and for a moment I saw something. Like from a dream, or just as one falls asleep but before taking the first step into the imaginary world. “White mobile suit.”

“That’s not clairvoyance.” Trant scoffed. “He’s been reading his mission file.”

Feeling unsettled, I finished my drink while Nichol and Trant fought over the check. “She just brought one?” I noticed. “Let me chip in.”

“No,” Trant said, pulling harder until Nichol released his hold. “I don’t plan on seeing either of you anymore. If I do, it’ll be too soon. But if your lives make a difference so that I can take one additional step forward, then this is my thanks.”

“We hate you too,” Nichol chuckled. I noticed something slip between his lips like a toothpick.

Then he blew the whistle until we were thrown out into the street. And we went our separate ways, never to see each other again.


End file.
